


Nature versus Nurture

by Marwana



Category: Death Note & Related Fandoms, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-10
Updated: 2017-07-02
Packaged: 2018-06-01 11:00:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6515761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marwana/pseuds/Marwana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Voldemort's possession had done more than just cause both of them pain. It had unleashed something not dissimilar to Voldemort: Kira. But would Kira be the same if one were to combine Harry Potter with Raito Yagami? A Raito-is-Harry story with a twist, as one conciousness will not overpower the other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Nature versus nurture is a theory about the idea that people from the same genetic material (think identical twins) will be different when raised in different circumstances. Therefore, it is not only your genetic make-up that determines the way you become and are.
> 
> Disclaimer: not mine.

By God, it hurt. His scar felt as if it was tearing open and his head felt like it was splitting apart. But there was nothing he could do, he couldn’t even shout out or whimper.  
And then something _did_ tear inside of his head and he screamed soundlessly, unheard by everyone around him.

_He stared down in slight disbelief, even as his hand came up to press firmly against one of the leaking wounds. He had been shot. He, the God of the New World. He looked up towards the one who shot him, and a feeling of betrayal went through him._

There was nothing he could do but writhe on the floor in pain as Voldemort told Dumbledore to kill him. And he just wished Dumbledore would listen to the taunts and end this torturous pain. At least then he could see his parents again. And Sirius.

_He was bleeding to death. His name probably already written down in the book held by Ryuk. A sense of failure went through him as he felt himself grow weaker. After everything he had done, after everything he had given, he still hadn’t reached his goal of creating a better world._

_It didn’t take long before everything turned black. Kira had lost._

Warmth spread through him at the thought of seeing his loves ones again. And with the warmth, the pain caused by the possession left him rather abruptly until only a mild headache remained. A mild headache, and a strong sense of confusion and of being unsure of his own identity. For whatever it had been that had teared inside his own head had opened an entire different existence, filled with memories from another person or another life.

He watched on silently as Voldemort fled and he obeyed instantly as Dumbledore pushed the portkey into his hands that brought him back to Hogwarts, too out of it to fully apprehend what was going on around him. He was, after all, far too busy dealing with the fact that something was no longer right.

**oOo**

He was no longer sure who he was. He wasn’t Raito Yagami – or the other way around –, the brilliant Japanese student with a strategic mind fast enough to think up solutions for every single problem, the genius with a guarded personality hidden behind a nonchalant mask, the serial killer extraordinaire who wanted to improve the world, _Kira_ with the diabolic mastermind.  Raito Yagami had been killed in that warehouse sometime – confusingly enough – in the future.

But he was also no longer Harry Potter, _just_ Harry who wanted to be ordinary enough to be loved like Dudley, the Boy-Who-Lived who sometimes wished he hadn’t, the Gryffindor who carelessly stated what he thought, the Parselmouth who couldn’t keep out of trouble even if he tried, the Chosen One who would have to become a murderer. Though most of that evening had become  nothing but one vague memory, he did remember the prophecy he had been told and he did remember how _he_ was the only one who could apparently defeat Voldemort.

But of he was no longer Harry Potter, and he was no longer Raito Yagami, than who was he?

His body still looked like Harry Potter; the same messy dark brown hair, the same green eyes, the same scar, the same knobbly knees, the same short stature, Caucasian. He looked nothing like the tall, handsome, lightly tanned, Japanese form of Raito Yagami. Did that make him Harry Potter?  
But Raito Yagami had lived a longer life than Harry Potter had. Did that make him Raito Yagami?

Or was he both? Raito Yagami had wanted to create a new, better world without crime. Harry Potter wanted to save innocents from being killed by Voldemort. Raito had been bored and given the means, Harry had been forced into the role but had accepted it when he had been told that he was a wizard. Fundamentally, they both wanted the same. Both had been given power. Raito however, had turned into a psychopath who killed everyone in the way of his goals. Harry had supressed part of himself to become something others believed he should be.

But they _did_ share some characteristics. They shared a sense of justice. They shared the feeling that _they_ were the only ones capable of acting. They shared the will to give everything to reach their goal. They both greatly disliked losing, because losing meant not just that someone else was better; losing meant death.

No, he was no longer Raito Yagami, nor was he Harry Potter. But he could become the best of both and reach both goals: defeat Voldemort and create a better wizarding world.

**oOoOoOo**

Harry had changed. She knew this for sure.

Some of the changes were visible. his marks had become higher and he no longer turned towards her for help. His uniform was still the same but he kept it far more neat than before. He was far more confident and it reflected in the way he acted and walked. He talked differently, more eloquently; the words he used were more difficult. He had also become more ruthless, his mind set had changed from ‘to take them out’ to ‘to make sure they don’t get up again’. And he had become mo-

“Checkmate,” her thoughts were interrupted by the confident tone of voice of one of her best friends. But it was not something she was used to hearing from said aforementioned best friend.

“How did you do that?” Ron nearly whined. He was not used to the fact that Harry could suddenly _win_ a chess match played against him.  
But Harry just leaned back into his chair, his legs crossed almost elegantly and a confident near-smirk on his face.

Yes, her best friend had changed. Sometimes he still acted as the boy she had known for five years. But other times he had become a near stranger. His words cynical and hard, his mind calculative and dangerous, his way of acting ruthless and deadly.

She had asked him about the changes once, a while ago. He had just stared at her, his green eyes sharp and searching for something in her eyes only he could see, before he had answered.  
“Sirius’ death had been an accident, and he will be missed,” he had stated softly, “but he wouldn’t have died if I had had all the information. If studying a bit harder, if reading a bit more, if asking more questions, if working harder would mean that you guys will remain safe and unharmed then it will be worth it.”

“But that would mean that we have less time to discuss Quidditch theories,” Ron had said horrified, “or play games!”  
“We’ll still have time for that,” Harry said soothingly before he had grinned a crooked smile, “I rather prefer winning the game after all. But I have decided to take this war a bit more seriously.”

Sometimes, she wondered if You-Know-Who had taken over her best friend. If the possession he had told her about hadn’t caused a split personality inside of her best friend: one still acting as Harry Potter, and one acting more like she would have thought a dark lord to act like. But then he smiled at her. A genuine smile more confident than she was used to, but still meant just for her even though he acted like the personality that she deemed more like that of a dark lord. And she forced herself to stop thinking like that and just smiled back.

**oOoOoOo**

The brat had always been arrogant, strutting around like he owned the school. As if rules did not apply to him. But he had become even more arrogant.  
He had believed that the death of the mutt would have shown the boy how flawed he truly was. He had believed that it would have brought the boy’s ego back down to a manageable size. But it hadn’t.

His marks had gotten higher in every class but his and that combined with his new title of _Chosen One_ seemed to have inflated the boy’s ego to near impossible heights. The way he strutted around, the way he laughed and talked with his friends, his popularity; it all reminded him of another Potter with similar hair and a similar attitude.

He planned to make sure to show the arrogant brat every time he could that he wasn’t better than his classmates as soon as he could. That he was, in fact, beneath quite a few others simply because of the fact that he _couldn’t_ use nonverbal spells.

The boy had not been the first one to manage casting a non-verbal spell. Hell, he hadn’t even cast a single spell during the entire lesson, while some of his classmates who had been raised in a purely wizarding family like Draco Malfoy or those who had a better grasp on the theory like the know-it-all Hermione Granger managed it before the end of the first hour.

But the brat didn’t seem deterred by his lack of casting. In fact, though he appeared somewhat annoyed at the fact that he had yet to cast anything, he also seemed to study the way his female friend silently forced his other friend’s wand from his hand and caught it. If the boy had been anyone else he would have used the word ‘analysed’, but even though his marks had become somewhat decent he was still just a lazy, arrogant child.

He marched forward determinately, his cloak billowing dramatically behind him. It was time he actually taught the boy something. Both to proof the boy that he had to learn more to actually survive and to show him that his arrogance was dangerous.

He drew his wand before he even reached the small group consisting of the three Gryffindors and quickly and quietly shot a stinging hex towards the Potter boy. The spell was aimed well and it hit the boy right where he had intended to hit him; on his right hand. The boy dropped his wand in shock, but immediately picked it up.

The brat turned towards him, an annoyed look upon his arrogantly styled features which melted away into curiosity as he noticed who it had been that had hit him.  
“Defend yourself!” he barked as he shot another hex towards him.  
The boy’s eyes narrowed slightly before he physically moved out of the way of the hex in an almost elegant, dancelike move. His lips pulled back into a ugly sneer as he sent another one towards him, and once again the brat moved out of its way in that odd way. Even three hexes sent over a larger area nearly at the same time were dodged easily.

“Ten points from Gryffindor,” he snarled darkly as his hexes failed to land and the boy failed to cast even a single spell, “five extra point will be deducted for every time you fail to nonverbally cast a shield charm as a reaction to my spells. Five points will be deduced for every time my spell will tear through your shield charm, if your feeble concentration attempts somehow manage to cast one. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” the Potter brat simply responded, but something dark and unreadable gleamed inside those bright, green eyes.  
“Sir,” he snapped.  
“Though I appreciate the honorific, calling me sir is redundant,” the brat stated smoothly, and his lips turned up slightly in a very brief smile.

It took him a couple of long seconds to pull himself together before he finally ground out, “five points from Gryffindor and detention tonight.”  
He didn’t even warn the insolent brat before he sent a nonverbal _Stupefy_ towards him.

He could feel his own eyes widen in muted surprise at the nonverbally cast shield that sprung up between them. The spell he had fired hit it, and was bounced right back at him.  
The last thing he saw before everything turned black – courtesy of his own spell combined with the surprise at seeing the shield – was the victorious, vicious look of satisfaction in the brat’s eyes.

**oOoOoOo**

“Professor Snape told me you attacked him,” he told the boy sitting in front of him, his tone filled with the disappointment he felt, “he deducted fifty points and you’ll serve detention with Argus Filch every night we don’t have a meeting for the rest of this year.”

Something flashed through the child’s expressive green eyes before they became shaded and every emotion disappeared. And it was such a familiar expression on a face it did not belong.  
“I see,” he said, his face unreadable and his tone of voice devoid of any emotion.

He studied him from over the edge of his glasses, nearly desperate to find something that showed that he was not still possessed by a part of Voldemort.  
“Before we continue where we stopped last time,” he said gently, “is there something you would like to tell me?”  
He was pretty sure that, just like in Harry’s second year, he wouldn’t get a satisfactory response and the shake of the child’s head showed how right he had been.

“In that case I would like to show you this memory of Horace Slughorn,” he stated as he rose from his seat and made his way over towards the already prepared _Pensieve_ , “after you.”

**oOo**

He watched on in something he would normally have described as a mix of happiness and relieve and satisfaction and a whole other slew of emotions as the young Gryffindor dived gracefully towards the ground.

He would have believed it to be impossible, but the simple joy of just flying around for the sake of flying seemed to have increased inside someone who was already known to enjoy flying immensely.

He had noticed that young Harry Potter had become more withdrawn, more aloof, cooler, more secure and more confident in himself. He had also notice a couple of traits the boy hadn’t had before. Arrogance, disdain, a certain lack of morals and rules, so much smarter than his peers that it set him apart, and a incredible dislike, distrust and disrespect for people in places of authority. Traits he had always noticed in one Tom Riddle.

But Tom Riddle had never enjoyed flying. Neither for recreation, nor for competition. And Harry was enjoying his flying, very much so if the smile on his face and the happy, content sparkle in his eyes was any indication.

No, he was no longer 100 percent certain that young Harry Potter had been taken over by the horcrux of one Tom Riddle. But something _had_ changed within the boy. He just hoped it wasn’t anything that would hurt either the boy, his friends or anyone else latter on.

**oOoOoOo**

“Professor, I have a question and I would appreciate it if you could answer it truthfully,” he looked up from the work he had been marking in surprise. The last class of the day – the sixth year class with some of his favourite students of his current year of teaching, in fact – had ended a couple of minutes ago and he had believed that all of the students had left. But the young Gryffindor with green eyes the same colour of another favourite student of his – and why did she have to die? She had been so brilliant! – showed his mistake.

“Mister Potter, of course, of course!” he answered cheerfully, but he couldn’t help but feel dread at the piercing eyes that seemed to analyse his every movement, the child’s looks, the way he was standing and talking and the way his mind worked. And though they were not carbon copies – their behaviour was different, the way they acted towards others was different – it reminded him too much of another, brilliant student some fifty years ago. One that had become the very reason he was once again teaching at Hogwarts.

“How can I help you?” he added curiously, though he couldn’t help the slightly weary tone.  
“Like I mentioned, I have a question and I would appreciate it if you would let me finish and if you could give me a straight answer,” the boy stated firmly.  
He opened his mouth to respond but the boy just smiled. In the end he just nodded.

“Some fifty years ago one Tom Riddle came to you to ask about horcruxes,” Harry started, “you handed part of the memory showing that conversation to the headmaster. I do not care for the exact memory. Nor do I care for your response to Riddle’s question.”  
He once again opened his mouth to refute what the Gryffindor was saying but he just continued.

“It is clear from the things Voldemort has said in my presence combined with some other arguments that Dumbledore believes that Voldemort has made more than one horcrux,” the boy stated, skilfully ignoring his flinch at the name, “what I want to know is rather simple. Did Riddle mention a number in his conversation with you?”

 Those green eyes stared imploringly at him and he could just stare at him. On the one hand he wanted to deny everything. To tell the Gryffindor to leave and to never ask him that ever again. But on the other hand, he wanted to ease his guilt. He no longer wanted to have to look over his shoulder out of fear. He wanted to _live_ again.

He closed his eyes before he whispered softly, “yes.”  
He felt and heard the boy lean in.  
“How many, sir?” he asked and he could hear the anticipation and the impatience in his tone.  
“Seven,” he answered, even as he started to feel sick, “he asked something about seven horcruxes.”

He opened his eyes again, only to be met with two very green, very cold, analytic eyes.  
“Seven,” the Gryffindor repeated, his tone as frigid as his eyes.

He shook his head and cleared his expression into something more friendly.  
“Thank you, professor, for your help,” he said with a gentle – but obviously fake – smile, “I appreciate it.”

He made his way towards the door and, just before he left, bowed shallowly towards him, leaving him alone with his guilt, his sense of dread and his fears.

**oOoOoOo**

He studied his best friend pensively as he chewed on his toast. Harry had been acting odd since the end of last year. He knew that Hermione thought he hadn’t noticed – Harry probably thought the same thing – but he had. It was hard not to.

It hadn’t been his higher marks, or his changed attitude that had given it away. It hadn’t even been the fact that he had won or kept winning games of chess against him.  
No, it had been the way he had acted towards Ginny, Hermione and him that had shown that something had changed. That, and the fact that he had actively and successfully started to fight back against both Snape and the Slytherins.

Harry had always been nice and kind towards Ginny, no matter how odd his sister had acted around him. And he still acted pleasant towards her, but in a different way.  
The same went for his behaviour towards Hermione and him. He no longer asked Hermione for help, he had actually told her that it was no longer needed. He was also no longer willing to indulge him with games of chess that always ended in his defeat – not even after that had turned around in Harry’s favour – and he was no longer willing to discuss the Cannons with him for hours and hours.

He had become more distant, more studious, _different_.

But the biggest sign had been his reaction to his Christmas gifts. He had thanked everyone politely but he had made no move to wear the new sweater his mum had made, he made no move to open his favourite type of candy and he made no move to use the prank items Fred and George had given him.

And while he could believe that his change had something to do with his more serious take on life after his loss of Sirius, the fact that he had gotten more vicious and successfully stealthy in his attacks against the Slytherins, more competitive while playing games or competitions of any kind and acted just plain _differently_ sometimes as if he were someone else entirely showed him that it was something else.

“I’ve been wondering for a while,” he stated after he had finally finished his toast, “but how do you dodge like that?”  
“Hm?” Harry hummed questionably as he turned his attention towards him and lowered his copy of the _Daily Prophet_ , folding it neatly and placing it into his bag, “what do you mean?”  
“That dodging thing you do during duels and the like, how do you’d that?” he repeated his question, “it almost seems like you are dancing or something.”  
“Ah, that,” his best friend stated with a small smile, “it is rather easy actually. Most people have certain ways of moving before they cast a spell or attack someone physically. All you have to do is notice that small movement so you know which way to move to dodge an attack. And that dancelike aspect comes from the fact that I have taken up capoeira after it had been… Ah, suggested to me by someone I used to know.”

He blinked in confusion at that answer, even as he noticed that Hermione had lowered her own book – some thick thing about something he would never read.  
“You can dodge bludgers fired at you by the beaters, right?” Harry asked with a soft sigh as he rested his head onto a single hand in a way that looked almost elegant – he wrinkled his nose at his own choice of words, “it is the same principle. You notice the beater hitting the bludger in such a way that it is heading towards you. Though it is rather fast, because you saw the beater hit the bludger you know which way to dodge.”

His eyes grew wider as he realised what his friend meant.  
“So you just look at the mo-,” he started but he was interrupted rather rudely.

“Ready to loose, Pothead?” Malfoy asked from just behind them and he turned towards the three Slytherin boys. Crabbe and Goyle had barely changed, but Malfoy had become more pale, thinner and less arrogant during the year. He had become near depressed, less _sure_ of himself even. Dark smudges had become visible underneath his eyes and he no longer bothered them as often and even he could see that something was going on with the newest Death Eater.

“I should be asking you that,” Harry told the annoying blond, and he shot the Slytherin a sharp grin.  
“You wish!” Malfoy stated with a snort before he turned around and walked away.  
They watched him walk away for a bit before Harry suddenly called out.

“Oh, and Malfoy,” he called towards the Slytherin who was about a quarter length of the table away from them. Malfoy turned back towards them.  
“Girls do not normally walk with steps that big or with such a bounce, it would show private parts that they rather not share,” Harry stated loud enough for Malfoy and all individuals surrounding them to hear, “you might want to take that into consideration for the next time.”

He watched in satisfaction as Malfoy paled even further, though he was also confused as to why his friend referred to the other boy as a _girl_.

**oOoOoOo**

Sometimes he missed his Death Note. It would have made some things so very, very easy. After all, all he would have had to do was write one single name and the world would forever be free of one dark lord who had named himself Voldemort. As if someone like him could fly away from death.

It would have been _deliciously_ ironic. He would even have taken the time to truly make the man fly. Maybe from a high tower. Or a bridge. Something dramatic and public and moreover: somewhere extremely visible.

But he no longer had his Death Note and though he missed it from time to time he was also very glad that he no longer had to deal with bored Shinigami like Ryuk. Or Rem and her clinginess to Misa.  
Not that he was one that should complain about being bored. His boredom had led him to become Kira after all.

But he was no longer bored. Being Harry Potter, being a _wizard_ had brought many opportunities. Especially as Harry Potter had never truly had the will to research anything beyond what was absolutely necessary.

Harry Potter had been far from stupid, just lazy, and though he no longer could be counted as a genius, he did have the memories and pride of one Raito Yagami. And it was that pride that had forced him to become smarter, better and faster with comprehending the material taught. It also meant that he could often be found in the library reading one book or another – not always in plain, old English – or working on some kind of spell or another.

But most of all, he loved flying. He had already loved flying as Harry Potter, but Raito Yagami had once almost wistfully told Ryuk that he would have loved to fly. He would have given half his life for wings. And now he could fly with just the help of a simple broom. Or a spell that he had yet to find.

But neither his new found ability to learn or his love for flying would help him with the Voldemort-problem. Nor would it cause the Death Eaters to drop dead with just the use of a pen and a piece of specific paper.

Maybe it was time to once again become Kira. The British wizarding community all but begged him to do so. Maybe it truly was time for him to become the cold-hearted murderer L had once accused him of being.

He closed his green eyes in something similar to pain. He actually missed L, the first L. Though they had often fought or disagreed he had seen him as something of a friend. L had seen the true him, the less-than-perfect part he had always kept hidden. And he and L had been intellectually so very close to each other. L had had more experience and he had been more analytic, more logical while he had been more social, more emotional but they both had been so very smart. And though Near might have won, he would never be close to either L’s or his own level.

Not that he didn’t care for his current friends, because he did and he would gladly give his own life for them. Had almost done so multiple times when he had just been Harry Potter, in fact, and just because he had also become Raito Yagami did not mean that that would change.  
But L had been an entire different category on his own in which Raito had fit easily and even Hermione, who was one of the most brilliant students of their generation, could not compete with either L, Raito or even Near, Mello or Matt. She might, in a couple of years and with his help, but not now.

L had been the one person who had cured his boredom for the time being – like being Kira had, like being L had, like half-heartedly working against Near had – but he had been in his way and therefore had to go. Just like Voldemort – who actually sounded like a person who he would have adored to pick his brain – had to go.

It was just the way it was. That was just Kira’s way. And he was Kira.


	2. Chapter 2

He slowly made his way towards the edge of the Astronomy tower, easily bypassing his crazed aunt, the potion master turned Defence teacher who hadn’t hesitated to kill his own employer and the other Death Eaters that had followed them up onto the tower. He stared down at the wrecked, crumbled remains of what had once been one of the greatest wizards alive. He could smell fire and even death on the wind that softly rustled his hair but he ignored it all in favour of the relief he felt.

It was over. After a year of stress, of being afraid, of being tired. It was finally, _finally_ over. Albus Dumbledore was dead. And though he feared the Dark Lord’s punishment for not being the one to actually cast the spell that killed the old headmaster – he shuddered in disgust, despair and some other unnameable emotions at the very thought of having to kill someone – he was still relieved to know that his parents were safe for the time being.

He would have sagged down in sheer exhaustion and in sheer relief had it not been for the strong hand placed strategically between his shoulder blades.   
“Let us go,” his head of house said sternly, “the Dark Lord would want to know that your plan has succeeded.”

Bellatrix protested loudly but he was too weary to truly comprehend what she was saying and just obeyed the hand that pulled him firmly towards the entrance by his collar. He had no doubt that it had something to do with death, destruction and torture. He could not bring himself to care.

“ _Expelliarmus_ ,” the spell came from somewhere slightly below them and he felt his wand pulled out of his hand and towards whomever had cast the spell. The voice had been familiar, but the bored way it had sounded, the very tone in which it had spoken, hadn’t been.

He whirled around as quick as he could towards the place the voice had come from as adrenalin raced through his veins and his tiredness made way for a fight-or-flight kind of energy. He absently noted that Snape, his aunt and the other Death Eaters had done the same, and had already pointed their wands towards the one who had forcefully taken his wand.

He was only mildly surprised to see Harry Potter standing there, right between them and the exit of the tower. The Gryffindor had always found a way to stick his nose into things that did not concern him, after all. However the confident way he was standing was different. His back was straight and his head held high. He seemed taller and more present than ever, even though he was easily the smallest person on the tower. There was a certain arrogance present in the way he held himself, as if he knew that he was better than them and wasn’t afraid to show it. The ease in which he bore the fact that wands held by dangerous people were pointed towards him and the serenity on his face were also a surprise. He couldn’t see his eyes very well as they were partially hidden by his shaggy nest called hair and his dorky glasses and his gaze was turned downwards but he had a feeling that they were _off_.

They watched as his schoolyard rival tucked away his own wand and curiously studied the wand he had stolen from him. The Death Eaters were extremely weary of _attacking_ the other boy. Their Lord had specifically warned them against it as only _he_ had the right to hurt the Gryffindor and even Bellatrix was cautious enough not to go against a direct order like that. The threat of horrendous pain easily cutting through their somewhat crazed minds.

“Good evening,” Potter said pleasantly as he finally turned his attention towards them, those green eyes as serene as his face and showing absolutely nothing. Even he, as a Slytherin, hadn’t seen a mask as well created as the one the other boy was currently wearing before.

“Potter,” Snape stated almost wearily. Something was not right. Potter’s temper was legendary, he was normally rude and curt with those he deemed his opponent and he _hated_ all of the people currently standing in front of him. Something was very, very _wrong_. Even Bellatrix seemed to have grasped onto that if her silence was any indication.

“Snape, Malfoy, Lestrange, Yaxley, Greyback,” the boy greeted them with a polite smile before he shrugged almost sheepishly and stated, “I would acknowledge the rest of you as well, but a lack of knowledge of your names makes that slightly difficult.”  
He could admit that he was starting to freak out at the other boy’s odd behaviour, though he made sure that he did not show it.

Snape opened his mouth again – no doubt to question the boy – but Bellatrix was faster.  
“Is itty bitty Potter going to attack us?” she simpered childishly, “is he going to avenge his beloved _Sirius_? Or Dumbledore?”  
“I do not see why I should,” he told her mildly as he cocked his head, “revenge just shows that someone feels the need to ascertain his or her social dominance over others. Psychologically speaking, revenge also makes one feel far worse than if one does not get the change the punish the wrongdoer. So why should I risk my own mental health for two adults who should be able to take care of their own wellbeing but failed to do so?”

It was not just the more brawny Death Eaters that blinked in confusion at his words, though he had no doubt that the words and their meaning meant nothing to the more brainless of their Lord’s minions. It was the way in which he had spoken that had confused the smarter members of their current group.  
The wand the boy had taken was still hanging limply by his side, his posture was completely relaxed and his expression was still one of serenity. He seemed to honestly believe every word he had said, even though it was the complete opposite of how he had acted before.

“Get out of our way,” Greyback snarled suddenly, his dog-like behaviour easily broke the uncomfortable stalemate they had reached. It was quite apparent that he was fed up with the almost civil conversation and hadn’t understood a word of what the boy had said. That, and he just didn’t have any manners whatsoever to speak of. The werewolf bared his teeth in a clear threat in an attempt to intimidate the boy to move. But Potter just looked at him mildly.  
“No,” he responded easily even as he smiled at him as if he wasn’t the most intimidating or abhorrent thing he had ever seen. And though the serenity remained, something had changed. Those green eyes had become sharp, calculating and dangerous.

Greyback had never been known for being patient. Or smart. And he showed it once again by physically launching himself towards the other teenager. He physically turned away so he wouldn’t have to see the blood that would no doubt be drawn from the slightly smaller Gryffindor. He had seen enough death for the day. Because no matter how capable the Gryffindor might have been, he was still only a student up against a deadly and bloodthirsty – even for his kind – werewolf.

It was over quickly, as he had assumed, but to his surprise it wasn’t a heavily wounded Harry Potter who flew into his vision. He had heard no incantation, nor had he seen any light that indicated a spell being cast. But a spell had to have been cast as the next thing he knew was that blood and pieces of flesh and bone covered them all even as the still living body of one Fenrir Greyback slammed violently into the battlement of the tower with enough force to break part of it off. His body hit the ground with a noticeable sound as he was crushed by the broken stones only seconds later. It was quite clear that he hadn’t survived his impromptu flying lesson.

His stomach rebelled almost immediately and the small bites of dinner he had managed to eat hours ago were forced out of his stomach rather violently. He dry-heaved a couple of more times before he finally felt well enough to straighten himself up and look towards the one who had caused him to lose his dignity in such a way.

Potter’s face was twisted slightly into a sneer of disgust, but he easily flicked his wand to clean himself and straighten his clothing. His face once again became a mask of polite serenity once he had cleaned himself up. He didn’t look sick, disgusted or disturbed with the fact that he had just been covered in what had once been the remains of a humanoid being. Nor did he seem disturbed by the fact that he had just killed someone. In fact, he seemed almost bored. As if _murdering_ someone was something he had done often enough that it no longer bothered him. As if being covered in blood and who-knows-what-else was beneath his notice.

“I am going to remain right here until either the Order or the aurors arrive,” he stated in clear boredom as he finally turned his attention once again onto them, “any attempt made to get past me will end in your incapacitation or death at my hands.”  
He suddenly smirked in amusement, “or wand, in this case.”

Normally, he would have snorted in derision, or he would have at least sneered at the words. But the matter of fact tone in which it had been stated, the very gleam in those green eyes and the fact that the other teenager had just blasted someone off the tower made him almost afraid. The fact that he had not once flinched while in their presence – not even when he had been covered in blood and guts and bone – hadn’t helped either. Whoever this was, this was _not_ the Harry Potter he had spent the last six year in classes with.

“Who are you?” Snape asked. It was clear that he had figured it out as well.  
“Why, I am Harry Potter of course,” the boy answered in surprise and with a surprised blink of confusion but it was clear that it was just another mask, “who else should I be?”  
He didn’t doubt for even a second that the boy was lying. Potter had never been a good actor. Nor was he as ruthless as this person was.

“ _Crucio_ ,” Bellatrix suddenly shrieked out and he could only watch in fascination as the curse made its way towards the still relaxed person in front of them. It appeared that the fact that they had questioned the other male’s identity had somehow confirmed in her mind that he was in fact not Harry Potter at all. And therefore he was just another victim she could play with.  
The others, he could see, were not quite so sure and not half as spell-happy as his crazed aunt and just hung back. They were also more weary of their Lord’s reaction in case it truly _was_ Harry Potter they were currently dealing with.

But the boy twisted out of the way easily and gracefully in such a way he hadn’t even known a human could move – it reminded him of that one Defence against the Dark Arts lesson with Snape in which he had ducked nearly all the curses before he had cast a shield that had knocked Snape out – before he flung his own spell towards the crazed woman.

It was not a spell he had ever heard before – he even doubted that it was Latin – and it seemed that he was not the only one that hadn’t heard of it before as Bellatrix let the yellowish spell hit her.  
She was encircled in a brief flair of yellow light before the glare disappeared and his aunt was once again fully visible. Nothing had happened nor did anything happen.

His aunt cackled loudly and once again readied herself to fire another no-doubt painful or deadly spell towards the imposter. He could hear the first words of what sounded like a particularly nasty _dark_ curse when she stopped herself and used her free hand to rub at her chest, just above the spot where her heart was located. It was so out of character for her to not cast something even when she was truly hurt that everyone turned their attention towards her. Apparently, the spell _had_ done something to her after all.

“ _Tempus_ ,” Potter cast lazily as he studied the dark witch who had started to grimace in pain as she slowly tilted forward in satisfaction and fascination, “in case you were wondering what exactly I cast and what is happening to you: you are currently having what is often described as a heart attack. The curse I cast is slowly removing the oxygen in the veins that provide your heart with blood. I changed it slightly so that you have precisely forty seconds to live once hit with that spell. In the regular version of this curse all oxygen was immediately removed from the blood, which caused one to die in less than fifteen seconds as the brain is forced to shut down and the lungs and heart stop working almost immediately. One could describe the original spell as being more merciful, but I prefer this version.”

The sound of a wand clattering on the ground echoed loudly on the eerily silent tower as she hunched fully over in pain. Her breaths came out in pained pants and gasps and it didn’t take long before his aunt collapsed forward as the pain seemed to become too much. She stopped moving and breathing not long after.

“Forty seconds seemed more _appropriate_ , especially if one were to regard the circumstances,” the Gryffindor looked almost nostalgic as he looked down upon her before he cancelled the _Tempus_ , “goodbye, Bellatrix Lestrange.”

“You killed her,” he heard himself say faintly, “just like that.”  
“Yes, I did,” Potter answered easily with a lazy shrug, “in a perfect world she would have been given the death penalty, or the kiss in this case, years ago. But this world is _rotten_. Rotten to the core, in fact. So someone has to stand up and act, even though it makes him or her a worse killer than the ones he or she relieves of their task. And I seem to be the only one capable of the task, even though I no longer have a way to punish those with divine retribution like I had before.”

The Death Eaters surrounding them grew restless. Most of them were murderers of some kind and whoever this person was he didn’t seem to fear getting his hands dirty.  
“ _Legilimency_ ,” Snape intoned from next to him, his voice as deadpan, sure and cool as always and he couldn’t help but admire him immensely, even though he knew that this was the same man that could look the Dark Lord in the eye without flinching.

The boy let the spell hit him, it didn’t take a genius to know that he could have easily dodged it if his actions this past year had showed him anything. But he was arrogant and he didn’t seem to see them as a threat.  
They watched on as Snape maintained the contact. And they watched on as he started to shiver slightly before he broke the contact.

“Minds are not like books,” the Gryffindor stated almost mockingly, “they are not something that can be read easily.”  
“Who is Kira?” Snape asked, and even to him it sounded like a diversion.  
“I am,” the boy – Kira? – said with the same lazy shrug as before as he started to twirl the wand between his fingers, “or I was. But if it makes it easier you can refer to me with that name. I have had a lot of names and titles over the years, this is just one of them.”

“I rather not,” the potion master said almost stiffly.  
“Harry Potter will do if _Kira_ is not to your liking,” he said with another elegant shrug, a smirk was forming around that mouth even as his eyes flashed almost maliciously behind his glasses, “or Yagami Raito. Or even L. Names are just titles we gain during our life and which we make our own. But I am as much Harry Potter as I am any of the other aforementioned names or titles.”

He stared at the male in front of them in something akin to incomprehension. Or confusion. Both worked in this situation.

“How many?” Snape bit out not long after. He seemed to have gone even more pale than he already was and his eyes were narrowed in an unreadable emotion.  
“You will have to be a bit more detailed than that,” he said, “how many what? Names? Friends? Girlfriends? Pets? Siblings?”  
“How many did you murder?” Snape nearly snarled, nearly because Snape did not snarl. His words became just more to the point and more snipingly.

“I did not murder anyone,” the individual in front of them stated dryly, “murder means that someone planned the death of another before the actual act took place. Taking a knife along with you when you visit someone with the intention to end that individual’s suffering versus picking up a knife when you are somewhere and ending someone life on a whim. The timing is different between a murderer and a serial killer. A murderer enjoys the death for some reason or another. A serial killer does not. A serial killer sees every death as a singular event, while a murderer somehow connects the multiple deaths. There is also a matter of time. A serial killer has a time of rest between deaths, while a murderer kills at random.”  
The Death Eaters shared glances.

“No,” the boy continued with a cruel smile on his face and a manic gleam in his eyes, “if you want to be politically correct, I am a serial killer. I did plan every single death I caused but I did not enjoy a single one of them. They were just a means to an end.”

“How many,” Yaxley growled out, the first thing he had said since the appearance of the brat.  
“Approximately one hundred and twenty four thousand nine hundred and twenty five,” the boy said with an almost angelic smile which quickly made way for a sharp, lethal smirk, “give and take a handful. Sometimes, the pen truly is mightier than the sword.”

They physically stumbled back, completely flabbergasted. Even the most hardy of Death Eaters didn’t gain such a number. Not even their Lord had caused such a death toll.  
“Though I do admit that I can count the people who I have actually murdered while I was near on two hands,” the boy, no the _killer_ said lazily.

“Why tell us?” he managed to get out.  
“Why?” Potter repeated with an almost crazed glint in those sharp eyes, “for two simple reasons. Firstly, because it shows that I am serious about the fact that I will kill you if you even consider running. And secondly, because it has been quite a while since I have had any mental or physical stimulation and I actually hope that one of you becomes desperate enough to attack me.”

“So tell me,” he continued with an almost predatory smirk, “are you going to surrender, or are we going to fight?”

**oOo**

He had no idea how much time had gone by when voices suddenly came from behind the murderer in front of them.  
Only two others had been foolish – or desperate – enough to attack the seemingly young male in front of them and they had both paid for their actions with their lives. Courtesy once again of that odd yellow spell that had killed his aunt.

Everyone present turned their attention towards the stairs behind their would-be killer but the sharp sound of wood snapping forces their attention back onto said would-be killer. Potter has once again drawn his own holly wand and had snapped _his_ wand. The two pieces of wand are held into his left hand and he can’t help but stiffen as he focused completely on the remains of what had once been a loyal wand. He watched in something that could be described as sadness as the other male casually tossed the two pieces over the battlements until they disappeared out of sight.

It was as if a change came over the other with the disappearance of the wand that had easily killed four others. His aloof, smooth and almost bored expression morphed into a hateful glare and his mouth moved into an ugly snarl. His eyes lost the boredom and gained an angry, revengeful glint. The muscles of the hand holding the wand stiffened until the wand was held in a firm, almost painful grip. And he seemed smaller, less present, less intimidating, less _dangerous_.

The angelic mask of the killer had once again changed into the familiar face of the famous Harry Potter whose nasty temper if provoked was legendary. He would have respected the ease with which the boy could change had he not used it to hide a murderer worse than even their Lord.

He felt himself relaxing as the voices – weary, tired and angry all mixed together but always safer than the angelic, honey-voiced killer in front of them, even if he no longer had the wand he had used to kill – came closer and closer until the individuals to which the voices belonged to appeared.

They were all sympathisers of Dumbledore as far as he could see and not Death Eaters – something for which he was more than grateful as he was sick and tired of death – and he couldn’t help but sag in relief. With the presence of the boy’s allies came the certainty that he would not kill them.

“Harry!” the werewolf that had taught them in their third year exclaimed relieved, “we were worried about you when we couldn’t find you. Hermione and Ron mentioned that you left with Dumbledore…”  
He trailed of as he noticed the dark look on the boy’s face and the fact that he held the others – all Death Eaters – at wand point.

“Dumbledore is dead. Snape,” he spat the name with more venom than should be possible, “he killed him.”  
The newcomers turned towards the dark-haired potion master and he could easily see the betrayal and hatred in their eyes.

“Take them away,” a dark-skinned male wearing the most ridiculous purple garments stated in a soothing baritone, “the presence of a mark on their arm will be enough to get them into Azkaban.”  
He felt the other Death Eaters raise their wands but a single flash of calculating darkness inside the green eyes of the one who had held them at wand point for the last minutes – hours? – made them lower their wands again.

Azkaban and a possibility to once again regain freedom at the hands of the Dark Lord was kinder than a certain death at the hands of the hidden mass serial killer in front of them. And he had no doubt that the younger male knew or had created spells that would end with their death some way or another if they did not go with the aurors peacefully.

The aurors approached them warily and took their wands away – they looked at him oddly as soon as he had coolly told them that he no longer had his wand – before they forced them into magic-binding handcuffs and forced them towards the entrance one by one. Potter finally lowered his wand and he finally felt himself relax completely.

“Ron and Hermione, the others” the young Gryffindor started in a tone that sounded worried, “are they alright?”  
“They have some scratches,” the werewolf stated gently, “and not everyone of the Order made it out in one piece, but no one has died.”  
“Except for Dumbledore,” Potter stated bitterly as he glared at the way Snape had gone before he too relaxed his grip on his wand, “but I’m glad everyone is mostly fine.”

It was distorting how genuine the boy sounded. Had he truly been as worried as he sounded or was it just another mask? He was quite sure that he was not in fact bitter of the fact that the headmaster was dead. He had after all told them that revenge was just a waste of time and energy, why should feeling bitter about it be any different? And if he wasn’t feeling bitter, was he truly worried about his friends – were they even his friends? – or was he just acting?

He was one of the last ones to be forced away – the fact that he was a student and wandless made them hesitate. But he did hear the question he had hoped they would ask and the answer the murderer gave.

“What happened to Lestrange and the other two?” one of the newcomers asked somewhat disturbed.  
“They were in pain,” the Gryffindor said with a shrug, “and then they just dropped dead. I didn’t cast anything with this wand that could have caused it.”

He laughed bitterly, even as he was forced away from the mass serial killer who had caused them to ‘just drop dead’ and managed to omit the fact that he was the one who had killed them.

For the first time he truly feared for the future for the entire wizarding world. Dumbledore – the ultimate beacon of light and hope – had been killed, and now the world would be split into two camps. One followed a well-known Dark Lord, a murderer and someone who wanted to rule the world. The other camp followed the new beacon of hope, a mass serial killer in hiding who had murdered more people than the Dark Lord could even consider to murder and who wanted to remove everyone he deemed a cause of a world that was in his eyes _rotting_.

Both were ruthless and both wouldn’t hesitate to _kill_ everyone in their way to their ultimate goal.  
The world was doomed either way.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I just used familiar characters owned by others.
> 
> Warnings: death.

**Nature versus Nurture**

**Chapter 3**

_Memory…_

**oOoOoOo**

He checked himself in the mirror to make sure his looks were perfect. Harry Potter had never been vain, or willing to look in a mirror longer than absolutely needed. Raito Yagami could have been called vain – and has been so repeatedly by one extremely scruffy super sleuth –, but even he hadn’t been actually vain. He had known from a very young age that he would have been bullied for his extremely high intelligence if he didn’t make sure that he was and looked absolutely perfect. It had just become a habit to make sure that he looked his very best.

His lips twisted into a pleasant smile, one that had always made Misa – and many other girls – swoon. His newly coloured greenish-amber eyes flashed in dark amusement and distaste as he remembered his former fiancée.  
It was the day of the wedding of Bill and Fleur and he considered himself incredibly lucky he had never had to deal with the commotion surrounding a wedding before, as this one had been as chaotic as L’s preferred work spaces.

He himself had been forced to stay far away from the Weasleys’ gardens as magical workers had been working for days now to set up everything needed for the main event of the wedding. Everyone had been too afraid that one of the workers would inform the Ministry that Harry Potter was currently living with the Weasleys. His two best friends and Ginny had been asked to stay inside with him to make sure he truly stayed away from the garden.

But he was finally allowed out of the house and into the garden. In disguise.

They had prepared Polyjuice potion for him with some hairs from some red-haired, muggle boy almost their age. He had declined politely. He was more than capable of changing the way he looked with magic. Hermione had reminded him that it was very hard to change one’s appearance with magic as one had to know the body they wanted to change into extremely well. He had just winked at her.

He smoothed the lines of his dress robes and shifted the chain of the watch he had been gifted on his birthday as he checked himself one last time. His hair was a familiar brown, and fell neatly and smoothly around his face. His face had become longer and thinner, with higher cheekbones, a slighter nose and a slightly different shape of lips and ears. His eyes had changed to a mix of the eye colours he had in his last life and the eye colour he normally sported in his current life. No one would recognise them now. He had chosen to make them slightly more narrow to give him a slightly more Asian look, but not enough to appear anything but to be of European descent. He had also made himself taller and thinner, making the muscles he had more noticeable.

He looked far more handsome than he had ever had before as Harry Potter, and far more exotic than he had ever had as Raito Yagami.

He nodded in satisfaction as he checked himself one last time, before he made his way out of the bathroom he had been occupying and down towards the kitchen.

“H-Harry?” a hesitant voice sounded from somewhere slightly behind him, and he turned around to face Ginny.  
“Hello Ginny,” he greeted her kindly, “what do you think? Inconspicuous enough?”   
He moved away from the stairs and more closely towards her. He spread his arms wide in a theatrical move so she could see him fully.

“I wouldn’t call you inconspicuous,” she answered with a near breathless, high-pitched giggle he recognised as having heard before from girls who tried to flirt with him, “but I wouldn’t have recognised you as, well _you_ had I not known that there is currently no one else around except for us Weasleys, you and Hermione. Even your voice is different.”

She sounded awed at both his new looks and the magic he had used. She made her way over towards him with a noticeable sway to her hips. He lowered his arms as he watched her come near.

“Ginny, Harry!” Hermione’s voice sounded from below before she could do or say anything.  
“We are coming!” he called back, before he turned back towards the stairs, “I’ll see you in a bit, Ginny.”

He might not like the flirtations of Ginny overly much, but he _was_ happy with his new looks and he _was_ happy with the attention it would draw away from him being Harry Potter. He was especially happy with the fact that only a handful of people would know just who he was. It was so much more easy to clean the rotten world if only a handful of people knew what he really looked like.

“Oh, and Ginny?” he turned back around just as he had stepped on the first step of the stairs. She moved towards him eagerly.  
“Call me Raito.”

He truly loved magic.

**oOoOoOo**

The Ministry had fallen. The minister had been killed, but not before their Lord had managed to extract the location of the Potter brat from his mind.

The man had fought hard, and many of his fellow Death Eaters had fallen at his hands. Their numbers had already shrunk drastically; especially with the amount of Death Eaters currently locked away in Azkaban, those who had died at the hands of the Order – all incidents of course, as he doubted that those goody-two shoes would actually _kill_ someone – and the smaller number of werewolves as the large pack of Fenrir Greyback had fallen apart after his fall of the Hogwarts Tower.

But those who had been locked away in Azkaban could be rescued easily after the fall of the Ministry. And new people would join their ranks once they had publically prosecuted and executed Harry Potter.  
But they actually had to get him first, and that was their second goal of the night now that the Ministry had fallen.

“We are only after Potter, his mudblood, and the Weasleys,”  their temporary commander barked loudly, “kill everyone else.”  
A blood thirsty grin made its way on his face. He might not have been allowed to join the Hogwarts team a handful months ago – and what a luck that had been, all the others had been captured or met their untimely demise – but he could finally help their Lord by killing some of the unworthy mudbloods, and the restrictive light wizards and witches.

“On my command,” the Death Eater commanding them in their Lord’s place barked. They all grabbed their wands, all tense in anticipation of a good bloodbath.  
“Go!”

Pops sounded as every last one of them apparated away.

**oOo**

It was chaos as he landed. Someone had clearly warned the wedding guests of the fall of the Ministry and their impending arrival.

He fired a bloodboiling curse at the first person he saw – an older, blonde witch. She went down screaming in pain and he savoured the sound for a brief moment before he turned towards the fleeing crowd and send the killing curse right in their midst. The death of one of their own made the group scatter and he eagerly went after some of the younger members that went one way. One of his fellow Death Eaters joined him, and they shared a dark smirk before they both started to herd the smaller group to a place they could play with them properly.

He easily caught up to them and he was about to kill a young, beautiful – at least partly a veela – girl, but a nasty gurgle coming from his colleague and screams from his victims, who were suddenly covered in blood, halted him. He turned towards his fellow Death Eater, only to have the grisly but familiar sight of a torn open jugular be met by his eyes.

A soft whooshing sound alerted him to an incoming spell, and he managed to duck just in time to avoid being hit with a very familiar, very deadly, very _dark_ curse. He remained tense and alert as he quickly followed the path the curse had carved in the air back to a single, youngish looking wizard.

He was clearly a foreigner, and – a flash of jealousy shot through him – a rather handsome one at that. His cloths were elegant and clearly expensive, not something he would have expected at a Weasley wedding.

“Ha-Raito!” a female screamed and the young wizard turned his attention towards the sound, only to be forced to move out of the way of an incoming curse. He sent his own curse towards the foreigner. And just like that, the younger one was duelling both him and one of his fellow Death Eaters.

He was good. He had to grudgingly admit. He managed to weave easily through their spells and curses and it was clear that he was just toying with them. Sharp, cold amber-green eyes set in an emotionless face studied their every movement, but without losing sight of the happenings around them, as became clear when the irritating _brat_ moved out of the way of a stray spell.

“I tire of this,” the boy’s honeyed tone sounded more bored than weary, and in a quick succession he shot two yellowish spells towards him and his companion. Both spells hit their intended mark, even though they had both tried to duck out of the spells’ way. It seemed as if the young wizard was not only capable of ducking, but was also skilled in reading his opponents’ movements.

At first nothing happened, but it didn’t take long before something started to hurt horrendously somewhere near his heart.  
The last thing he saw before everything turned black was the satisfied gleam in the young wizard’s eyes as he stepped over him and towards the thick of the battle.

**oOoOoOo**

“We didn’t manage to get Potter or his _friends_ , My Lord,” the man in front of him – one of the lower level Death Eaters, and one of the few to have survived the near massacre that took place at the Weasley wedding – stated almost fearfully.

He hissed out an angry snarl just before he sent an overpowered _Crucio_ towards the messenger.  
“How is it, that I sent nearly thirty, capable men towards a wedding filled with students, old people and known light wizards,” he started as he released the curse, “and only seven manage to survive, only to tell me that they were incapable of capturing _one_ , _measly_ school boy?”

“P-Please, My Lord, most of the wizards and witches present _were_ incapable,” one of the seven survivors stated as he prostrated himself in front of him, “it was _one_ wizard who defeated the majority of us.”  
“He was dark, My Lord, and so very fast,” one of the others added with a shudder, “and he didn’t hesitate to kill everyone in his path.”

“Show me,” he ordered sharply, even as he levelled his wand on the nearest survivor, “ _Legilimens!”_

**oOo**

_He was hit with a barrage of sounds and flashing lights as soon as he entered the pathetic, cowardly mind of his follower. He recognised most of the spells, and it was easy to pinpoint who was light and who was dark just by looking at the spells they were firing towards their opponents._

_It didn’t take long before he noticed the wizard his men had mentioned. For one, because he was clearly as dark as they came and indeed as fast and capable of killing as his men had stated. The second clue was the fact that he was defending the light wizards and witches and actively and successfully taking down his men. Thirdly, was because of the dead wizards clad in dark robes and adorned with the white masks that showed them to be his men surrounding him.  
He was also the only one who used spells he didn’t recognise._

_The boy’s favourite spell seemed to be a yellowish one. He didn’t recognise it, or the language the spell was cast in, but he had to admit that he did like the effect it had. It was slow-going, but it was clear to him that it killed the one it had been cast on slowly and painfully._

_The young wizard was barely more than a child, and he reminded him of himself when he had been young. They were both handsome, both were ruthless, both were extremely dark, and both were brilliant fighters. And, while his eyes were cold and calculating, it was also very clear to him that his opponents were boring him and that he was actively playing with them as long as they were incapable of hurting the present light wizards and witches._

_He watched on with something that was not dissimilar to arousal as the young wizard – boy was too much of an insult to the ruthless being that was only second to him – as he took down nearly fifteen fully grown and fully trained, dark wizards all by himself._

_He weaved around spells with economic but elegant movements that seemed odd to him, but worked beautifully for the young, dark wizard. He was a marvel, and he wished nothing more than to have him on his side._

_He leaned forward eagerly as the young wizard whirled around at a shouted, “Haraito!”. He took note of the person who had called for the young marvel – the mudblood always following Potter around – only for him to shoot a bloodboiling curse towards one of his men that was trying to hurt one of the younger witches._

_He watched on until the man whose memories he was watching was forced to leave or be killed._

**oOo**

“I want to know everything about him,” he commanded with a dark hiss, “his name, his background, his friends and family, and the reason why he – a dark wizard – fights on the light side. Everything!”

The survivors bowed before him.

“I want him brought before me,” he added sharply as he glared at them with narrowed eyes, “alive and unharmed.”

**oOoOoOo**

She watched on in slight disgust as her best friend – disguised as one Albert Runcorn, which had taken more cajoling and begging than she would have believed – flirted heavily with Dolores Umbridge.  She knew that they truly needed the locket the vile witch was wearing around her neck, but she strongly disliked the way he was getting it away from her.

Umbridge seemed to have completely forgotten about her – and the muggleborn witches surrounded by dementors she should be prosecuting – as Harry plied her with compliments regarding her pink clothing, her kitten-like patronus, her bloodline, and, of course, the locket.

Umbridge was eating his words right up, and it didn’t take long before she handed him the Slytherin locket.

Harry wasn’t slow in taking out not only the vile woman, but also the Death Eaters that were in the same room as them. All with an to her unknown, bluish spell he wasn’t willing to teach her. He had assured her that it wasn’t a spell classified by the Ministry as ‘dark’, but that the spell would take them out long enough for them to get away.

“Let’s go,” he ordered in his new, deeper voice as he made his way over towards her, “ _Expecto Patronum_.”

The silver form of a bony Thestral shot out of his wand and herded the now freed dementors away from them. She hadn’t even realised that the Patroni that had kept them away had disappeared as soon as he had taken out their owners. She quickly added her own otter to help her best friend’s new Patronus.

“B-but, the muggleborns!” she called towards him.  
“We can take them along with us,” he drawled, “but we have to hurry up. Our hour is nearly over.”

Together they freed the small number of muggleborns and pointed them towards the right direction and away from the horrid room.  
Harry slammed the door shut and locked it quickly with a thankfully familiar spell.

He once again cast the Patronus charm, only to send it away with some whispered words.  
“I asked Ron to meet us in the atrium,” he told her as he pulled her along, “or to send us a message if he can’t get away.”

She suddenly realised that he was acting _odd_. He wasn’t acting the same way he had for the last two years, nor was he acting like he had in the first five year she had known him.  
“What is going on, Harry?” she asked even as he pulled her harshly towards the elevator, easily catching up with the weakened muggleborns and forced her inside.

“Voldemort is here,” he stated flatly but softly, his borrowed eyes cold and dark, “I, personally, really do not want either of you to have to deal with him.”   
Her eyes grew wide as the implications if they were to run into him became clear to her.  
“Let us hope he is not in the Atrium,” Harry said. She agreed silently with a nod.

Brief silence fell as the elevator went up.

“As soon as those doors open,” Harry started loudly so everyone in the elevator could hear him, “wait for me to exit and or the first screams to start, than run towards the floo systems as fast as you can. I will keep them off as long as I can.”  
The muggleborns with them murmured weak agreements.  
“The same goes for you, Hermione,” he told her softly, “try to see if you can find Ron and drag him with you if he is there. If not, make your way towards the floo system on your own.”  
And that was the Harry she did know well, self-sacrificing until the end.

“But what if _he_ is present?” she asked, “you can’t handle him on your own. And we still need to find-”  
“Just run,” he interrupted her with an almost convincing, soft smile, “I will be right behind you.”

**oOoOoOo**

Someone in the Ministry had spoken his name. There were only a handful of people courageous – or dumb – enough to do so, which meant he wanted to deal with them personally.  
They had yet to be found, however, and his patience was slowly evaporating as the minutes ticked by.

He had just made his way back to the Atrium of the Ministry a handful of minutes ago and he had just instructed his more capable of followers how to handle when – not if – the intruders had made their way over towards the only place they could use to exit the Ministry, the Atrium.   
The soft ting of the elevator pulled the attention of everyone present towards the elevator, only for most of them to turn their attention back towards their tasks as a familiar face – a higher ranking Death Eater and Ministry worker by the name of Albert Runcorn – stepped gracefully out of the elevator.

He made his way just as gracefully towards the thick of the crowd, but not too far away from the elevator. His eyes stayed firmly focused on his very capable servant. His movements were economic and measured. Too economic and measured. If one were to compare the man to a weapon, they would immediately think of a morning star: blunt, spiked, dangerous and deadly, but never graceful, economic or measured. Whoever this was, they were more like a small, incredibly sharp knife.

The man acted before he could order his men to deal with him. The killing curse flew from the man’s wand towards the thick of the crowd and one of his more noticeably dressed Death Eaters dropped down. Dead upon impact with the curse.

Screams filled the Atrium and chaos ensued, and he barely noticed the small group suddenly running from the elevator that had never left as the man masquerading as Runcorn threw more deadly curses towards his servants and felled them one by one.

His servants – both those currently present for other reasons and those he had selected to capture the intruders – reacted with the same amount of violence and it did not take long before the entire Atrium was filled with flashes of light, fleeing people, and the dead bodies of those unfortunate enough to be hit by either side.

The small group that had fled the elevator when the fight had just started had used the chaos to flee the Atrium using the floo system, though he was sure that some had been hit by the flying curses.

But he did not care about a bunch of mudbloods. No, he had studied the fighting style of the wizard masquerading as Albert Runcorn – and whose looks were currently changing back to their original looks – and he clearly recognised the economic, beautiful fighting style of the intriguing young wizard he wanted on his side. It seemed that he did not have to go look for him after all.

The younger male’s looks darkened slightly, before with a wave of the man’s wand they lightened abruptly into the just as familiar looks of caramel hair and amber-green eyes. Either a glamour or a spell to remove the rest of the Polyjuice potion. He was exotic, deadly, dark, brilliant and he would belong to only him.

He swept forward from his position in the shadows and the Death Eaters that saw him first fell into formation behind him. He kept walking until he stood right in front of the single male fighting them all. His allies had long since fled.

He clapped slowly, but it echoed loudly in the large hall of the Atrium. The spells stopped flying as both sides fully noticed his presence.

The remaining civilians used the sudden lac of chaos to flee the Atrium. He ignored them in favour of the pretty puzzle standing in front of him. The young man had relaxed his stance at the sight of him, but though he appeared relaxed and not ready for a fight, he had no doubt that his puzzle could spring into action at the slightest twitch if needed.

“Thank you for the show, I am a great fan of your work,” he started casually, as if they were discussing the weather and not the death of tens of individuals, “it is truly beautiful.”  
Something flashed through the other male’s eyes, something he could not read fully but it was something wicked and amused and anticipatory but cautious.  
“I appreciate the compliment. It is an honour, truly,” he answered with a honeyed voice and a beautiful smile. All charm and innocence and youth and beauty, not dissimilar to a nundu on the cusp of adulthood.

“May I know the name of my newest enemy?” he asked him politely.  
“You may call me Kira,” the young wizard answered him, a small ironic smirk appeared on his face and his eyes flashed with dark amusement. He bowed shallowly, but in a practiced movement.

“You intrigue me, Kira,” he told his lovely puzzle as he stalked further forward until they were only a foot apart. The young man did not seem intimidated by his greater height or the closeness to the darkest lord in ages. He was the first in nearly 3 decades.  
“I live to serve,” the green-amber eyed male stated with another charming smile. He wished the young man would truly serve him. He would make such a pretty addition to his army and his charm would help keep the masses in check.

“Do you know why you intrigue me?” he continued as if the young wizard had not responded, “you are a walking contradiction. You are a very capable, very strong, very ruthless, very _dark_ wizard who is not afraid to kill if needed. Yet you fight for the light side who preaches the exact opposite of the way you operate.”  
“Someone has to make their hands dirty before we can live in a world that is cleaned from all the rot that has spread,” the other male answered with a casual shrug and a dark gleam in his eyes, “and I appear to be the only one capable to do so.”

“I could help you,” he murmured almost seductively as he stalked even closer. It was on days like this that he missed his own former pretty face. It would have been so much more easy to convince someone to join when one looked like an angel. Though he did not doubt that the young beauty in front of him would not be very impressed with an equally beautiful face. He was probably just as used to manipulation through his looks as he had been. Nor would he be attracted or swayed by his power. He might be more attracted to his knowledge and his ruthlessness.

The young male’s eyes gained a calculating gleam as they studied his face and eyes and something close to interest shot through his eyes so quickly he had nearly missed it, before his face was cleared completely. He kept both as honest and open as possible.  
“Thank you for the opportunity,” his young puzzle started after a couple of long minutes as he stepped back slightly and bowed once again shallowly. The mocking smile on his face showed that the bow was not one of respect, “but no thank you.”

“You brat,” one of his less intelligent servants snarled out, “our lord generously offered you a place at his side. To help him do the right thing and not be killed. Even after all you have done to undermine him. We will end you!”  
“You do not understand, do you,” the boy stated almost gently as took another step back and opened his arms almost dramatically as if to embrace everything currently in sight, “this world is rotten through the core. You, your lord, and the Ministry and everything they stand for are at the very heart of the rot.”  
A now familiar yellow spell suddenly shot from the young male’s wand as he moved back towards his relaxed position of before. It hit the man who had dared to open his mouth with great accuracy and great speed.

“I will cleanse the world of this rot,” he continued as if the man he had just hit was not dying just a couple of metres away from him. He looked slightly deranged, but dangerous and completely concentrated on his surroundings, “and I will lead this world into a period of peace and prosperity where crime, corruption and discrimination no longer exists. Everyone will be free to be who they are and everyone will be safe.”

Some of his Death Eaters moved forward to capture or kill the young wizard and shot several spells his way. He easily ducked out of their way in those odd, economic movements he had seen before.  
“I think I will start with this building,” he stated lightly, as if he was not being barraged with deadly spells and forced to duck every which way, “ _Fiendfyre_!”

A large, oddly shaped, winged, hideous creature with bulbous eyes and sharp teeth completely made out of flames flew from his wand. It cackled in the way only fire could, but it held a delighted tone as it made a couple of circles above the head of the wizard who had called it forth before it skimmed its fiery wings along the large, flammable banners that hung everywhere.

“Have fun with Ryuk,” the young wizard stated casually before he turned into black smoke and flew right through the side of the Ministry with high speed and even more force, breaking both a complicated piece of magic and a crucial part of the architecture that held up at least part of the grand, underground building.

He tried to follow after him but the collapse of the side and the heavy, oily smoke of the cursed fire made it impossible to see where the young wizard disappeared to.

He screamed out his rage at the sudden loss of his pretty puzzle as the building around him was slowly destroyed by an oddly sentient creature made of fiendish fire that somehow managed to stay out of the range of all attempts to destroy it.

Even after young Kira’s rejection, he still wanted him by his side.


End file.
